Dry the Rain
by Troll Princess
Summary: With great power comes great responsibility. How long will it take Xander Harris to learn that after a surprise revelation on his 21st birthday?
1. Chapter I: The Made

Author's note / Disclaimer: Yeah, I appear to have a one-track mind. And that track is, "Give Xander powers!" I guess I should be grateful that a.) I'm not the only one on this track, if this site's any indication, and b.) according to the rumors I heard, he's getting some on the show, and soon. (Hopefully, anyway.) In any event, everything spawned from the Buffyverse, as well as the characters we all know and love, belong to God, more familiar to those at the IRS as Joss Whedon. (I would have said Goddess, since I'm Wiccan, but then I go to a nasty visual place with Joss and I doubt he'd appreciate that.) As soon as some of my own characters show up, I'll be sure to point them out. 

Author's note Part Two: The title for this story comes from a song on the High Fidelity soundtrack by the Beta Band. If you get a chance to listen to it, it's a great song. 

* * *

Dry the Rain   
Chapter I: The Made   
by Troll Princess 

* * *

This is how it goes. Your father beats the crap out of you for years, and you put up with it and your mother puts up with it, and you laugh it off because you're good at laughing things off. And then after a series of jobs that closely resemble slave labor, you get a job you're actually pretty good at that pays a good twenty-five bucks an hour, if you do it right. So you move out of your parents's house, because that's what big boys do. And you feel great about the fact that you don't have to see that shithead at any other family gathering aside from his funeral. 

And then you get a demon. 

Okay, you know what? Enough with the "you" crap. _I_. I got a demon. Sort of. It's hard to explain. 

Then again, maybe it's not. I remember presents, and a fairly concrete chocolate cake Anya had slaved over, so we ate it, and my family. Giles, Buffy, Willow ... the whole bit. As far as I knew and cared, the sperm and egg donors were on the other side of town, making the Absolut company rich beyond their wildest dreams and throwing around the cheapest, most worthless garage sale chotchkies they could find. 

Like I said. _As far as I knew and cared._ Remember that, kiddies. It'll get me in trouble in a few minutes. 

What else do I remember? The hum. 

I call it the hum. They ... the ones you'll meet later ... they call it the tuning. Doesn't matter, one way or another. It's all the same. It starts in your head, tingling like a headache, but missing the pain part. It sings along your skin and toasts up your insides until you feel like a blanket someone warmed up for you on a cold winter night. 

It had started for me the night before. Right before bed, actually. Not to be the barbarian here, but it definitely made sex with Anya ... interesting. 

Anyway, I was in the middle of yet another birthday kiss from Anya when there was a knock at the door. Anya and I exchanged a look -- it was one of those buzz-people-in apartment buildings and the only people whom the rest of the residents were usually nice enough to let in were already in the room. 

The others were too occupied in their own conversations to watch me peek out the crack in the door. 

Oh, no. Not a chance. This was not happening to me. 

"Mom?" 

As soon as I said it, I saw Anya tense up out of the corner of my eye. She knew just as well as I did that I hadn't wanted my mother here. Or, for that matter -- "Dad? What are you guys doing here?" 

Let me give you some idea of what I saw through the crack in the door. My mom, an excited smile on her face, her eyes dancing with anticipation. And my father, ready to punch a whole in the wall and reeking of schnapps. A family favorite if there ever was one. Neither of them looked ready to speak, much less equipped for cognizant thought. 

Before I slipped out the door, I glanced over my shoulder, catching the concern in Anya's eyes. She'd never been stupid. Naive, hell, yeah. But stupid, no. Her gaze quickly darted to the rest of the Scoobies before connecting with mine once again, and she gave me a slight nod. No one would bother us out here. 

I stepped out into the hallway, just in time to be confronted by my mother. Mom's one of those hug-me types. If twenty years with my father had taught me anything, it was to back away from people. No wonder I always felt pulled in two different directions. "It's your birthday, sweetheart. Don't think I'd forget --" _Everybody, say it with me now._ "-- the yearly anniversary of sixty-seven hours of mind-numbing labor pains." 

At that particular moment, I knew there was a reason I loved my mother, I just couldn't remember what it was. 

My father, on the other hand, glared at me as if I were the Anti-Christ. He looked as if he wanted to make fun of me, tease me ... hell, maybe even beat the living shit out of me. But all he did was grimace at me and sneer, "I'm leaving." Which he did. 

Mom started to go after him. "Stuart!" And then promptly decided against it after she saw the look on my face. I'm guessing it was the not-again look. "Oh, don't mind him, sweetie. He's just jealous because he didn't get one of these when he turned twenty-one." 

That's when I noticed the purse. 

You know, I'd like to call it something else. But that's what it looked like. A little bag with a couple of carved wooden handles attached to it and a shiny gold clasp on it. It was a _purse_. I knew this. My best friends were two girls. One of them had a girlfriend. Hell, I had a girlfriend. Purse. Yeah. 

But hey, I played along, because it was Mom and when your mother goes senile at an early age, you play along until you can reach either a phone or a rock. "A purse? I don't blame him for being jealous. And such a lovely shade of teal," I said, reaching to take it away. I thought for a second that the hum grew a bit, but I was probably going nuts. 

Kind of like Mom. 

She snatched the purse away from me, giving me a dirty look. "It's one thing to humor your mother. It's another thing entirely to tease your ancestors for their choice in ..." She examined the bag for a second, trying to figure out what to call it, finally deciding on, "Containment units." 

Oh, I knew this one. I didn't have "Ghostbusters" memorized for nothing. "Containment units." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Ancestors." 

"Yes." 

"A purse." 

Mom smiled awkwardly. "I blame your great-great-great-grandmother Irene. She thought you'd be a girl." 

Great-great-great grandmother Irene? Okay, what? 'Cause I specifically remember the genealogy assignment I did in junior year definitely _not_ containing anyone named Irene. "Mom, not to steal a pretty stale cliche here, but you lost me at hello." 

Her expression softened, and I immediately felt like crap for treating her the way I had. "I knew I should have told you sooner. But your father --" Her jaw set, and her grip tightened on the ... um ... okay. Still sticking with purse here. "Your father is a man who doesn't understand the hardships of living on the Hellmouth." 

You know that dream where you're taking a test you know all the answers for, and you get to the essay question and it's to remove your own spleen? And it's history class? 

I had several thousand words in the English language on the tip of my tongue. As it was, the only one that would come out was, "Hellmouth?" 

"Alexander ..." I would have complained, but she was my mother and they're allowed to call you whatever the hell they want. "Alexander, I've wanted to tell you this for so long. So that you could prepare for this. So that you could psych yourself up for it." 

Uh-oh. She was trying to use the lingo of the young. Not good. 

But there was something in her eyes that just broke my heart. You've never met my mother. She's sweet. She's beautiful. I don't care about the twice-broken nose or that jagged scar above her eye. She's my mother and she's beautiful. Can't convince me otherwise. 

My mother did not belong with an asshole like my father. Never had. Never would. 

And just ... her eyes ... 

"Mom, what's wrong?" 

"Stuart ..." She cleared her throat and finally said it. "Stuart is not your biological father." 

I know you're not supposed to feel like you've hit the lottery when your mother tells you something like that. But I did. 

She was saying something about her and my father -- the rat bastard who raised me, _that_ father -- having been broken up before I was conceived. About a strange, handsome, dark-haired stranger she met at a bar one night. About the moment weeks later when she realized she was pregnant and the UPS box that showed up in the mail not long afterwards. 

I had a father. An actual, real, blood-and-guts father. Who, okay, hadn't been there for twenty-one years, but, considering what I had had, had done a much better job of fathering than -- 

_Go on, say it. You know you want to._

--_Stuart_ ever had. 

"Alexander? Sweetie, speak to me." 

I couldn't hear the party anymore. The music inside dulled to a whisper all of a sudden, then stopped. It was if time froze for a second. 

Thinking back on it, maybe it had. 

"Alexander?" 

"Why are you telling me this now?" 

"Your father --" _C'mon, Mom, please say it ..._ "Your real father --" _Thank you._ "Your real father wasn't human." 

Do you have any idea how strange it feels? Not to have it hit you suddenly that you're different than everyone else. No ... in my case, it's more like a terrific, comfortable sensation that sweeps over you, from head to toe. 

**I'm not the Zeppo anymore.** That's the feeling. 

Now, okay, I admit it. First things first, I'm thinking, where are my powers? Do I get 'em at midnight or something? Is it going to hurt? Is it going to be horns and scales? It's not going to involve carrying around that purse, is it? Because I could handle the horns and the scales, but let's face it -- teal doesn't go with my coloring. Or something. 

Go on, Xander, ask her. "Well, if he wasn't human, then what was he?" 

"I don't know. But he said I was supposed to give you this --" She handed me the purse. Oh, joy of joys. "And this." She pulled a book out of her own purse, a thick volume bound in soft black leather that looked like something out of Giles's collection. The humming in my head went silky and vibrant all of a sudden. Kind of like an oh-I've-been-looking-for-that feeling. My fingertips drifted over the line of intricate symbols along the spine, my brain ... God, what's the best way to phrase it? Relearning the language? Whatever it was, something in me knew it. 

Part of me couldn't wait to open the book. Another part of me was glad to see it again. 

_Again?_

Mom was starting to cry. Something wasn't right. 

I was standing in the hallway of my apartment building having a life-altering experience, and my mother was crying. 

And I was holding a purse. 

"Mom? Are you okay?" 

She leaned forward, and gently kissed my forehead like she used to when I was a kid. Her fingers stroked my face as she held it in her hands, studying me, memorizing me. Like she was never going to see me again. 

"You, Alexander, will be officially twenty-one years old in five minutes. You look at the book, and then you look in the bag. That's what he said to do." 

She didn't even give me a chance for a retort. She just gave me one last kiss on the forehead, stroked my unruly hair from my face, got to her feet, and walked away without looking back. 

The last time you ever see your mother is harsh. It's even worse if you don't realize until it's too late that that's exactly what it was. 

Open the book. Do that first. Well, hell, I could do that. I was Research Guy on a regular basis. 

It tickled. Just touching it was like a blessing. A curse. An ... okay, for lack of a better word, an orgasm. It's like, "Here, kid, have your very own Orgasmatron." It felt like something. A destiny. A future. I don't know. I didn't yet, anyway. 

The bag? Still felt like nothing. 

"Well, here goes nothing, Xander." I took a deep breath and cracked the book open. 

_God_. 

I still think back on it occasionally, pulling back the cover to face the first page. Seeing what looked to me just like plain old silver lettering and then, all of a sudden -- 

**Bam**. 

Like a lightning bolt. 

**Bam**. 

Like opening your eyes for the first time. 

**Bam**. 

I knew. 

I knew _everything_. How do you kill an Ashrava demon? Pig's blood spiked with graveyard dust. How did Abraham Lincoln like his steak? Rare -- just run it through a warm room. How come Buffy always smelled like vanilla? Body spray in the morning, lotion in the afternoon. 

That's why I didn't feel afraid. When, at the very second that I had been born, the bag started to purr. When I felt that inner pull to open it, and did. 

When the demon -- the soul of the creature that was the missing other half of me -- poured out of it and into me like a fountain. 

When a split second later, I vanished. 

* * *

Okay, I know what you're thinking. 

So maybe I don't. That's not one of my powers. 

But I can guess. You're thinking something along the lines of, "What?! Where did you go? What's with the book? The purse? The dad? You can't leave me hanging like this." 

Well, actually, I can, since I'm the one telling the story. 

But I won't, since I'm me. 

Where I went is the easiest question, so that comes first. I went to Heaven. 

All right, hold on a minute. I don't mean _the_ Heaven. You know how there are more than a few versions of Hell? Well, if you didn't, you do now. There are Hells where you're a slave. There are Hells where you're the slave owner. And then there are Hells where you have to watch the torture. 

Heaven -- the one that I went to -- it needs a little more explaining, I guess. 

You say Heaven, and people get this image of this place where people wear robes and play harps and sit on clouds all day long. Or you say Heaven, and they think of that Robin Williams movie with the paintings. Or they think of a place where all your wishes comes true. 

I'm leaning towards the last one here, okay. Just bear with me. 

I came to standing in a field. Naked. Flowering weeping willows all around, sun warming my skin, soft, velvety grass under my feet. My bare feet. Because I was naked. I mentioned I was naked, right? I just ... don't mind me. Even in flashback, it's a shock just to not be one of the clothes-wearing people anymore. 

"Alexander?" 

Oh, God ... that was a girl voice. 

Luckily, it was behind me, and if whoever it was had already seen the rear view, covering it up just didn't seem an issue. "Xander," I corrected automatically, trying to glance over my shoulder at her. "Sorry about the ... naked." 

A musical giggle came from behind me as she walked up to me and handed me a robe over my shoulder. I tried to get a peek at her over my shoulder as I put it on, but no luck. She kept darting out of the way. "Not a problem. I saw you naked when you were a baby. Not much of a difference." It only took her a second to go, "Okay, that came out all wrong. Sorry." 

And that's when I turned around and caught a glimpse of what Heaven really looks like. 

It was medium-sized, willowy and graceful. It had blue-green eyes that twinkled in the sunlight and shimmered across the color spectrum with every movement. It had glossy brown curls that descended past some incredible ... territory that stops sounding romantic and starts sounding smutty. 

I searched all the knowledge that had crammed itself into my head, all the things I just knew, and for the life of me, I couldn't access whatever part of my brain knew who this was. But I did. I was sure of it. "Do I know you?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. 

She smiled -- she could do that at me any time she wanted -- and sauntered forward, walking up to give me a tight hug. Okay, not the best circumstances to hug me under. 

"Of course you know me, silly," she said. "I'm your aunt. Sort of." 

And pulling away enough to flash me a smile, she vanished. Apparently, just in time to put me into therapy. 

* * *

**

To be continued in Chapter II: The Risen

**


	2. Chapter II: The Risen

* * *

Dry the Rain   
Chapter II: The Risen   
by Troll Princess 

* * *

So, let's review. Me. Field. Naked. Okay, so the naked thing had been fixed, sort of. 

I wasn't human. 

Not totally, anyway. I just couldn't get over it. I, Alexander Harris, was not the Zeppo. I wasn't sure whether to shout how happy I felt that maybe I could be of some use to the Scoobs, or feel as terrified as I thought I was going to be if I found out we were the bad guys. 

"Alexander." 

I froze. Another voice behind me, another voice that didn't seem real. And this one was male. 

Oh, God, please let this be him. 

Slowly, I turned around, and let myself get a good look at the man standing behind me. 

And was stunned by what I saw. 

He was my age. I mean, he couldn't have looked any older than twenty-one, but something told me he probably made Angel look like a toddler. 

"It's good to finally meet you," he said, stepping forward and throwing his hands around me. 

He hugged me tight, so tight you would have thought he was glued to me. But if I had wanted to turn to see his face, I wouldn't have had to. My mind's eye already had a picture of him memorized. 

It was the face in my mirror every morning. 

He looked like me. God, he looked so much like me, it was scary. The hair, the eyes, everything. You have no idea how much it means to an abused kid to see that they look like their father, or mother, depending on who's doing the hitting. You don't see any of yourself in the attacker, you get a lot of hope about black-market adoptions and unwilling parents giving up ... well, you. 

Can't say I didn't have those thoughts as a kid. 

And now they were coming true. 

Go on, say it. You know you want to. "Dad?" 

He chuckled, and pulled back. "I see you opened the book." 

Actually, that had been in the book. But I hadn't needed a book to tell me that this man was my father. Too easy, drill sergeant, too easy. "What's the what here, Dad? I mean ..." Okay, start simple, Xander. "Where are we?" 

"We're home." 

It came off so simple. _Home_. I felt like I should arguing for more information. But I couldn't. He was right. This felt like home. The humming was out of control here. It gave me a case of the warm fuzzies you can't imagine, and a part of me knew why. 

I guess my emotions were splashed across my face. I've been told never to play poker, so no surprise. "You can't tell me you never felt out of place among the humans," he said. 

Ha. That's a laugh. "Everyone I know feels out of place among the humans." 

"I can imagine. An ex-demon, a Slayer, two Witches, and a Watcher. I'm surprised all of them are sane," he said, then frowned. "They are all still sane, right?" 

I decided to ignore that question and skipped right to the next thing my brain was refusing to let me know. "What am I?" 

He got this weird little smile on his face -- is that what I look like when I smile? -- and started circling me like a shark. "You ever study mythology, kid?" 

Actually, between English class, "Xena: Warrior Princess," and being all helpy with Giles, you'd think I'd be a little more "the expert." And then came the book. "No, but it got sucked into my head from the book just like everything else," I said. 

"It did, didn't it?" He reached out and rumpled my hair playfully, and I swear, for a second I had an overwhelming desire to join Little League. 

He took a deep breath and said, "The Greek gods --" 

_Gods_? I was a _god_? 

"And don't say it." I was almost positive he'd read my mind, but the look on my face must have said it all. "No, we can't read minds. But we're not gods. And shut your jaw. Didn't you ever hear that catching-flies thing from your mother?" 

"Actually, it was the trout comparison that always got me." 

We exchanged an awkward smile at that. Obviously, moms on my side of the dimension fence were the same as moms on his side. 

His smile faded almost immediately as he got back to the subject at hand. "Thousands of years ago, our people were foolish. And arrogant. They had all this power in their hands, and they used it to make everyone think they were gods." 

See? Gods. I said gods. I was paying attention. "Greek gods." 

He nodded. "Right. They learned their lesson fast, though. One mention of the word demon, and people were trying to kill us left and right. We've been in hiding ever since." 

The fact that he didn't say they _were_ killing us rather than just trying to stuck in my head. 

Then he put his hands on my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes, and said the thing I'd been waiting for him to say. 

"You, my son, are an Orrick demon."

Orrick demon ... Orrick demon ... nope, not ringing any bells. Maybe that was a good thing. 

"Part," I said. It was reflex. "Part Orrick demon." 

My father stared at me, letting the look in his eyes sink in. "No, a full Orrick demon," he said, as serious as could be. 

Nope. Sorry. I'll buy the "I'm part demon" thing, but Mom was human. Therefore, I get to check the human box. 

He took a deep breath and went on. "Let me explain how this works. Worked. Whatever. Your mother and I --" 

Oh, God, he's going to talk about sex. With my mother. 

I think the abject fear in my eyes stopped him from going any further. When that lopsided smile of mine showed up on his face, I relaxed. It just ... this all felt so right. 

Finally, he said, "That's not how Orrick demons work." 

"I'll bite. How do they ... we work?" 

"Up until the moment you officially turned twenty-one, no one would have been able to distinguish this body from a human's. Not a doctor, not the Slayer ... no one. It bled --" 

I'll say. 

"-- it hurt --" 

Again with the "I'll say." 

"-- and it felt just like a normal human body." 

Something in that just sounded so not right. "But now?" 

"When you opened the book, you absorbed a few thousand years worth of knowledge in a millisecond. And when you opened the bag, you accepted your destiny. Your demon. The other half of you." 

Twenty-one years of Hellmouth living made me ask the next question. Again, reflex. 

"Are we evil?" 

He started at that. "What?" 

C'mon, Xander, ease up on the guy. "I just -- I work with the Slayer. You say demon, I say how many big, pointy teeth does it have?" 

He smiled at that, maybe a little more uneasily than I would have liked. "No, we're not evil." 

"Then why did you leave me with him? 

At first, I couldn't believe I had said it. But then it just felt right. Why had he left me with that abusing, kid-beating jerk? 

And it was incredible, because I found a question he didn't have an answer to. 

When he didn't answer, it was like I froze over inside. I stepped back a little. "I have to go home." 

"You are home." 

I turned and started to walk away. "I meant Sunnydale. You know, the place I live." 

I had no idea where I was trying to walk to -- I knew that if I wanted to get home, I was going to have to poof myself in the general direction, because walking would get me nowhere. But I wanted my friends. 

I wanted my family. 

"Xander --" 

I started at that. He called me by my real name. Not the one scribbled on my birth certificate, but the one everybody called me on a daily basis. Even my own mother had trouble with that. 

"Don't you feel the tuning?" 

And that's when I found out about the tuning. The hum. Whatever. 

* * *

Orrick demons don't exist anymore. 

Apparently, it's a given fact. They're a legend, a myth, a haunting bedtime story other demons tell their kids at night to spook them. 

_If you're ever a bad little demon, an Orrick demon will show up and **make** you be good again!_

The legends have changed over the years, like most legends do. It started out that Orrick demons were pretty rocking guys who were usually the kind of guys to hang with the band and spike the punch. And then you fast forward a few thousand years, after everyone's fairly sure that they're extinct, and suddenly they're bloodthirsty monsters out to drain you dry and steal your kidneys while they're at it. 

But it was okay, because we were extinct. 

But we weren't. 

And it's all because of the tuning. 

The first Orrick demons didn't even know that other demons didn't get to feel this good all the time. They thought it was a given. Always feeling full of power, of strength, of life. And of course, they were stupid enough to brag about it. 

I've lived on the Hellmouth my whole life. Trust me, you don't brag about your powers unless you have 'em to back it up. 

It wasn't that they brought in the demon exterminator and just got rid of them all. They just vanished. The lot of them just ... poof. Gone. Never to return to the mortal coil. 

Well, so went the story, anyway. Obviously, I'm proof that that's a gross exaggeration. 

The tuning makes Orrick demons -- 

_Be honest with yourself, Harris._

The tuning makes _us_ different. It's immortality, it's power, it's the tingle of being able to do almost anything you want and the warmth of knowing you can get away with it. 

It's the hum that takes over your life. It's the tuning that makes the thought of a bunch of demons setting themselves up as the gods of an entire civilization not much of a surprise. 

The tuning is the knowledge of the world and the power to make use of it all rolled into one. And when I say it feels good, I mean it. 

Who needs crack when you've got the hum? 

Okay, maybe I'm going over the line. 

So here I am, sitting with my father, my real father, in an unbelievably beautiful meadow talking about how we had running over our fingertips the power to rule the world. 

_With great power,_ he says, _comes great responsibility._

Welcome to my new mantra. 

* * *

I wanted to go home. 

_You are home._

I ignored the voice in my head that told me otherwise and lie back on the grass. I'd been here so long, listening to his story. Listening to what he had to tell me about my past, and my future. 

"I have to go home." 

He didn't fight me this time, didn't argue over whether or not Sunnydale was the place I belonged. He knew it was useless. I could see it, not in his eyes or his expression. 

I just knew it. The same way I knew how to turn a couch into a tiger or make an entire room full of furniture and knickknacks disappear. 

My thoughts were starting to organize. All those things I knew all of a sudden? Filing themselves away for whenever they were needed. Like how to make clothes out of thin air. All I'd needed to do was think about it, and the old T-shirt and jeans uniform was back. 

My father was sitting next to me in the grass, watching me, almost as if he expected me to grow an extra head. "They won't miss you," he said. "You've only been gone a second to them." 

A second. Right. 

"When you want to come back --" 

Notice the absence of the word "if." 

"-- all you have to do is think about this place." 

I nodded. "I know." 

Huh. I knew something. New experience, that. 

I didn't bother saying good-bye, I just vanished. I doubt my father minded the lack of good-bye. I think he knew I was coming back even if I didn't. 

After all, this was home. 

* * *

**

To be continued in Chapter III: The Knowledge 

**


	3. Chapter III: The Knowledge

* * *

Chapter III: The Knowledge   
by Troll Princess 

* * *

I showed up in an entirely different world. 

No, wait. Let me rephrase. It's Sunnydale ... I feel like I should clear that up. 

You ever meet someone, and then a little while later, you find out some huge secret about them, and suddenly, you have no idea how to talk to them the next time you see them? That's how it was, landing back in that hallway, hearing the party. 

I was distracted for a split second by the little old woman who lived across the hall -- I had no reason to know she was home, but I just knew that not only was she home, but she was using her Internet connection to look up websites I'd rather not know she knew about -- but I quickly dragged my gaze back to the door of my own apartment. 

I didn't have to open my door or lean up against it and listen to know what was going on in there. 

Willow and Buffy were digging through my refrigerator looking for the Velveeta to make more pizza dip. Tara was showing Dawn how to float a pencil, and Giles was discouraging them from trying it at all. And Anya was watching the door, waiting for me to come back in. 

Well, the sooner, the better. 

I came back in expecting ... I don't know. Fireworks. Everybody clamoring for info. _Something._ But most everybody kept occupied with whatever they were involved in. To be honest, I don't think -- no, they didn't. None of the others had noticed my parents had been at the door. 

No one but Anya. 

She quickly got up from the couch and rushed over, and for once managed to keep her voice down. "Xander, are you okay?" she asked, grabbing my arm. 

I gave her a quick kiss and smiled to reassure her. "I'm fine. They're gone. Which is why I'm fine. No worries, I swear." 

She relaxed, then glanced down at my hand. "Are they your birthday presents?" 

Oh ... God. I was still holding the book. And the purse. "Uh ... yes?" Please don't let her ask about the purse -- 

So, of course, she immediately grabs the thing and starts playing with it. "This is nice," she said. "I don't like the book but I wish someone had given this to me --" 

"It's yours," I blurted out. 

There. No more agonizing about that stupid thing. 

* * *

I couldn't sleep. 

Well, I guess, I could have. If I'd tried. But I couldn't. Because I couldn't stop staring at Anya. 

She was asleep already when I started, just watching her, fascinated with the rise and fall of her chest as she slept. God, she's beautiful when she sleeps. I mean, she's beautiful when she's awake, too, but _still._

I didn't want to lose her. 

That was my first thought as I lie there, my gaze fixed on her sleeping face. It's like that when you suddenly know everything about the woman you love. 

My mind's eye ran this movie over and over in my head, of Anya's life from beginning to end. Born a human girl, sweet and gentle. Broken-hearted and seeking revenge. Being turned into a demon, and spending the next thousand years getting revenge for other girls who hadn't been as inventive as she had. Regaining her humanity and returning to a confusing life she barely remembered. 

She wasn't keeping any secrets from me. 

Not that I had thought she was. It was just ... I was afraid if I dug too far, I'd find out something about her I didn't want to know. But she wasn't keeping anything from me, nothing that could separate us. It almost terrified me how much I knew about her all of a sudden. 

It didn't occur to me until I curled up with Anya in my arms that something was missing from my now voluminous knowledge. 

Voluminous. Great, now I'm using vocabulary words in actual sentences. 

I looked for it, I did. I thought about it for the longest time, trying to dig through all those new ideas and memories, and I couldn't for the life of me find what I was looking for in my head. 

Of all the things I knew now, I didn't know a goddamn thing about Orrick demons. 

There was nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. It was like a vast empty lot in the middle of a major metropolitan city. Tons of noise and taken space around it, and a black hole where the knowledge should be. Shouldn't I know something about my own kind? I mean, hell, I can know what Alexander the Great had for breakfast two weeks before he died, but I can't know what I am? 

Color me crazy, but that did not bode well. Trust me, I know what boding well looks like, and that wasn't it. 

* * *

I had to talk to Giles. It was the only thing I could think of the next morning. I have to get out of this apartment and get to the man with all the pretty books on demons. _That's_ what I was thinking. Because while I knew every other thing that he knew about everything else, I didn't know what he knew that related in the least bit to Orrick demons at all. 

The man had studied for years in the finest colleges in England, and there were so many blank spots in the memories I now had of his that I suddenly wondered if he was going senile on us and hadn't bothered to mention it. 

Anya, meanwhile, was in the middle of finishing getting dressed for work. "Xander, aren't you going to work?" 

I shook my head as I finished eating my Pop-Tart. "Not today. Water main break down at the site," I said. 

Anya smiled. Any other person might have asked me how I knew about the water main. "Oh. Lucky you, huh? Day off and all." She playfully punched me in the arm and said, "So, slugger, want to go have some sex? I could call Giles and ask for a day off, and we can just --" 

"No, Anya, you'd better go." I kissed her forehead and added, "We can do it tonight, okay?" 

Her smile faded a little, but she threw on a jacket and said, "I'll try to wait, but I'll probably be having sex thoughts all day," as she walked out the door. 

I grinned as I watched her leave. Hmm. She kept saying things like that, and I'd be mentally rupturing water mains all the time. 

* * *

I knocked at the door to Giles's apartment half-expecting him to be gone already. But apparently, he hadn't left yet. He opened the door, dressed for the day and carrying a teacup. "Xander? Shouldn't you be at --" 

"Water main break," I said, breezing past him and heading directly for the kitchen. 

"Oh," he said, in that nice-of-you-to-commandeer-my-home tone of voice. "How unfortunate for you." 

"Yeah, a paid day off of work. Poor, unfortunate me. Next thing you know, Pamela Anderson Lee will walk in here and throw herself at me and my entire week will be shot to hell." I dug through his kitchen cabinets as I yelled back, "Giles, I have to ask you a question." 

"No, Xander, I have run out of Twinkies. And you shouldn't be eating them for breakfast anyway. You ever thought of eating something remotely resembling breakfast at breakfast?" 

I stood back up, a bag of Cheetos left over from our last demonic study session in one hand. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something a little more Hellmouth-y." 

He instantly tensed. "Is there a problem?" 

"Nothing that that Club Med of brain cells in your head can't solve," I said, as I popped a few Cheetos in my mouth and he took a sip of his tea. "What do you know about Orrick demons?" 

I hadn't seen a spit take in ages. It was nice to know Book Boy could still do one. 

His skin went ashen as he hastily picked up his cup and saucer. "I'm sorry, I went momentarily, hysterically deaf. Did you ask me what I knew about Orrick demons?" 

Now, I know when Giles is scared. It's hard not to notice, actually. The guy used to be the best ass-kicker in London, so the little things don't make him look the way he did at that moment. It was the big things, the everybody-get-ready-for-another-armageddon events that took the Ripper right out of him. He was terrified. Quaking. Horrified. But he was that solemn British kind of terrified that he did so well. 

And for the first time, I was scared. Because whatever I was, it was frightening the one guy who should _never_ get like this. 

"Giles? What's wrong?" 

He gently placed his teacup and saucer off to the side, removed his glasses and steadily, slowly polished them. Ah, the nervous trait any Scooby learns to recognize as bad, bad, bad. When he spoke, it was carefully, in a soft, tight tone of voice, and he stared at me as if I'd grown an extra head. "Xander, where did you hear about Orrick demons?" 

An excuse. Oh, my God, I hadn't bothered to think up a "where." Hell, I hadn't thought I'd need a "where." Or more likely, a "who." The only two options were Anya and Spike, and something told me bringing either one of them into this was not of the good. 

_Evac, Xander!_, a screeching voice in my head screamed. _Out! Get Out!_

I nervously rubbed at the back of my head and said, "Just ... just forget I asked, all right?" I started to walk towards the door, but froze at the next thing Giles said to my retreating back. 

"You found out last night, didn't you?" 

I didn't say anything. Didn't move, didn't turn around, nothing. Times like this, you let Giles do the talking and practice your listening. 

"When you left the party? That's when you found out." 

Like I said, no talking. I just nodded. 

"God ... I can't believe I never noticed until just this moment ..." I heard him walking towards me. "Let me guess. You find out your father is not really your father, and you open a book and get some knowledge, and open a sack of some sort and out comes this demon, and the next thing you know, you're naked in a field with some drop-dead gorgeous tart throwing you a robe --" 

Okay, now I'm saying something. "Don't call her names," I said, suddenly feeling defensive. 

I heard the crunch of something on the floor -- did Giles just squish his glasses? -- then felt the weight of his hand on my shoulder as he turned me to face him. 

"Xander, she's my mother. I can call her whatever the hell I want." 

I've got to speak. I have to say something. I can't leave this thing hanging out there. 

Wait. Okay, brain fry. 

_Say something, stupid ..._

"Huh?" 

Smooth move, Einstein. 

* * *

**

To be continued in Chapter IV: The Reality 

**

_Author's note: Just figured I'd add -- aren't I evil? ;) Oh, and just to scare you guys, when I write a chapter at a time, I REALLY write a chapter at a time. I have NO idea how I'm going to pull this Giles thing off. But hey, it's more fun this way. *veg* And it's not like I haven't done this before ..._


	4. Chapter IV: The Reality

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**Author's note: Sorry it took so long to get this done. A little writer's trick ... always be working on a ton of stories so this way, you're never _not_ working. Of course, it does have one tiny disadvantage, as you can tell ... :) **

* * *

Chapter IV: The Reality   
by Troll Princess 

* * *

  
  


I'd gone insane.   
  


That was it. It had to be it. Just a little temporary insanity to accompany the new demon thing I had going on. You know, gain a few scales, lose a few brain cells. Right? _Right?_   
  


"You're a demon."   
  


It was all I could think to say. Let's confirm the crazy, fairly unbelievable thing I'd just put together in my head.   
  


Giles nodded.   
  


"_You_ are a demon."   
  


"Yes," Giles said.   
  


"You are a _demon_."   
  


Okay, now I was just frustrating him. He reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was getting annoyed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember saying something along those lines already."   
  


"No. No, you said it. Just a touch of short-term memory loss, that's all." I had to sit down, before my knees spontaneously combusted. This was just way too weird.   
  


Giles was a demon?   
  


I heard him groan -- he must have read the look on my face -- but I just couldn't pay attention. I headed for the nearest chair and plopped down hard, hoping maybe that'd jar my brain back into something resembling reality. Because if this was reality, there was some serious therapy in my future. 

What was I supposed to do with that information? I mean, God ... I couldn't think clearly on that one. I just looked up at him and said, "You're like me."   
  


Well, hey, it was true. Stupidly put, but true.   
  


I'm betting I looked like hell. Or worse. Like hell's belligerent, drunk Uncle Jed. I could tell by the way Giles was staring at me. That 'sorry your puppy was hit by a bus' kind of a look. That, and something like recognition. He shook his head as he sat in a nearby chair. "I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. I knew you looked familiar, I just ..." He got this almost apologetic look in his eyes. "I haven't seen Eric in quite some time. I forgot what he looked like."   
  


Whoa, hold up. Back up the train. First off ... Eric. My father. He had a name. It hadn't even hit me until that moment that he hadn't told it to me.   
  


And secondly ... "How is that even possible? Forgetting the guy?"   
  


"Orrick demons are a legend for a reason, Xander. Because we are not supposed to exist anymore," he said. "It is a curse that has hung over Orrick demons for centuries. It's far easier to eliminate all trace of Orrick demons from history than it is to stuff all of human history into one little book. After a while, the information is wiped from our memories, no matter whether we want to remember it or not."   
  


"Is that's why there's gaps?" There were, too. For every thousand things I knew, there was one empty space where I knew there should have been ... I don't know. A memory or something? "I feel like my brain's all Swiss-cheesed. I mean, I know a lot of stuff, but there's all these holes. Especially with what you know. I mean, it's not like with the others."   
  


He opened his mouth to speak, then smiled weakly and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe they've lain this on me."   
  


"Come again?"   
  


"Explaining this to you. You'd think Eric would have taken five minutes out of his oh-so-busy schedule to mention, _Oh, by the by, here's everything you need to know._"   
  


I cocked an eyebrow and said, "Maybe they thought they'd throw it in your lap because you're so used to explaining everything to me already."   
  


Well, I had him there. You know, if I was right. "Point, you."   
  


We shared a friendly, boy-I-know-what-you-mean smile. Okay, back to business. "Why are there so many holes?"   
  


Giles sighed, and took a moment to wave his hand in the air in a simple symbol. My brain processed the symbol even as the pieces of the teacup flew the air, reassembled in Giles's hand, and refilled with tea from out of nowhere, even as the spill on the floor evaporated.   
  


Wow. Cool.   
  


He took a deep breath and a sip of the tea before saying, "Because everything the least little bit related to Orrick demons isn't there. A vampire meets an Orrick demon twenty years ago and suddenly, I can't remember what that vampire did for the next three months afterwards. Why do you think I have so much bloody trouble doing this job?" He got this really weird look on his face, a bittersweet smile as his gaze connected with mine. "It's the reason I love this job so much. It's the only one I've ever tried with any sort of a degree of difficulty."   
  


Okay, but he still had me lost. Call me Questions and Answers Boy here, but if I have to be some kind of slimy, horny demon thing, I want a handbook or something, at least. "Yeah, but I don't get it. Why can't we know about ourselves? Does that sound as stupid to me as it does to you?"   
  


"Extremely. But it's the law."   
  


The law. Yeah, right. "Okay, from my experiences with mayors and the police department, you'll forgive me if laws have lost what little appeal they had in the first place."   
  


I'm guessing from the look on his face that he knew where I was coming from. It was so weird ... knowing the things he knew for sure and not being able to access that internal monologue of his. Might have come in handy.   
  


"After the fall of the gods, Orrick demons as a whole moved into a dimension constructed for their personal use, and have stayed there most of the time ever since." He shrugged uneasily. "Or so I've been told."   
  


"But you can't be sure."   
  


"I can only be sure of what I know. Which, unfortunately, is not as much as I would have liked in the beginning. I could have used a little foresight into the future on a number of occasions."   
  


"We don't know the future," I said. I knew that already, but still, I couldn't be sure about anything in relation to my newfound powers.   
  


He shook his head. "No. No, we don't. Too many variables. It tends to be a best-guess scenario. Your head will tell you something's going to happen and be completely and totally wrong."   
  


Guilt was in his eyes right then and there, and I just kept thinking how horrible it must have been for him. Keeping this secret from us ... and jeez, how many things had he just let happen? A list of things he could have fixed, might have changed racked up in my head, things he had never done that he should have. Why hadn't he saved Miss Calendar? Why hadn't he done something to fix Joyce? Why hadn't he ...   
  


He noticed the expression on my face and I saw this wave of pity just wash over the poor guy. "Xander, look at me," he said, staring at me in that oh-so serious way he did when he was trying to make a point I needed to know. You know, if I wanted to stay breathing and all. "We are a secret. No one can know we exist. If I tried to fix any of the bad things that have happened to us in the past five years by demonic means, too many questions would have been raised." A little of that dry wit of his slipped in as he added, "Like the ones that will come up when the authorities examine that busted water main."   
  


"Oops," I said, positive I'd turned bright red. Then I noticed the crumpled frame of Giles's glasses sitting on the kitchen countertop. If he'd been going for making an impression when he'd broken them, it'd certainly done the trick. Something about Giles without his glasses seemed ... I don't know ... stronger?   
  


I mentally fumbled for something to say and finally came up with, "You broke your glasses."   
  


Oh, really genius material there, Harris.   
  


Giles nodded before raising his free hand and snapping his fingers. It was weird. I mean, I knew the frame and the glass were collectively in itty bitty pieces across the room. But one second, they were there, and the next second, they were glasses again.   
  


And the scary thing was, I knew how he'd done it.   
  


"They're fine," he said. Yeah, no shit.   
  


I couldn't help staring at him, at least for now. I mean, he's the Yoda. He's the guy with the brain cells. And while he was still technically the guy with the brain cells, this whole conversation had just taken that to an entirely new dimension, no pun intended.   
  


I mean, the guy was a _demon_. Can't stress that enough. He and I were demons. Oh, my God ... if he's that girls' kid, and I'm her nephew, and ... ow. My head hurt.   
  


All of a sudden, I got a mental image of her, and one look at Giles made me go absolutely petrified. "Oh, God, I just had a thought," I said with a groan.   
  


"What?"   
  


"You didn't hear it, did you?"   
  


"No, Xander."   
  


"Yeah, right. No reading thoughts." I took a deep breath and said as calmly as I could manage, "I just saw your mother naked."   
  


He smiled dryly and said, "That's all right. If it makes you feel any better, when I showed up in that field, I saw her naked, too."   
  


Ouch. "That's harsh."   
  


"Extremely." He leaned back in his chair for a second, staring at me, silently sipping his tea. "Xander, can I ask you a question?"   
  


"Shoot."   
  


"Those things that you received last night ... what did you do with them?"   
  


"Oh, you mean the book and that purse thing? I stuck that book in the cabinet with all those demonology books you keep giving me, and the purse thing is ... uh ..."   
  


He could tell I was stalling. So nice to have a best friend who knew when the bullshit was getting deep. "Where is it?"   
  


He said it like it was important that it was in a safe place. Oh, that's not good.   
  


Quick, Xander, play stupid. You're good at it. "The purse?"   
  


Giles nodded, a little embarassed. That was good. Apparently, I wasn't the only one put off by it. "Anya has it."   
  


"Really?" He went momentarily pale as he waved his free hand and sent the teacup and saucer in the direction of the kitchen. He must have been distracted, because they both slammed into the wall and shattered once again.   
  


"Oh, dear." 

Oh, dear. He said "oh, dear." That coming out of Giles is never, ever good.   
  


* * *

  
  


So, let's say I'm the narrator. Yeah, okay, so I _am_ the narrator. Let's play the third person game for a while, all right?   
  


So there's Anya, walking along Main Street with bag in hand, headed to work. Not suspecting a thing, just going about her business, being all fashion-y with her coordinated wardrobe and matching accessories.   
  


She was almost to the magic store when she walked into the woman.   
  


Woman. Huh. That's rich.   
  


They both dropped their purses at the same time, and both dived for them like hungry sharks. My guess is Anya didn't notice that both purses looked exactly the same. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to --"   
  


"Not a problem," the other woman said. If she would have actually known Anya, she'd have been shocked by the whole politeness thing. But what can I say? We'd been training.   
  


Anya brushed the dust off her new purse as she glanced over at the other woman. Brown hair, blue-green eyes, nice flowery dress ... aside from the dress, she looked awfully familiar. "Do I know you? You look like I should know you."   
  


The other woman smiled sweetly and clutched her purse to her side protectively. "If you didn't before, you do now."   
  


Then, without warning, she vanished into thin air. Poof. Gone.   
  


* * *

  
  


**

To be continued in Chapter V: The Secret 

**

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